#it's 1pm and i have left my bed once to go pee. that's it. tried watching the bee movie to feel better and it didn’t work. tried the grinch

[n-agiz]

guess who caught the flu 😸

[crystalsmentalhealth]

Talking about the Brattleboro Retreat in Brattleboro, Vermont

I recently spent two weeks at the Retreat and wanted to share my experiences both good and bad about it. 

I arrived at the Retreat in mid-June of 2021 after a four day stay at the Emergency Department of my local hospital. Originally I had not wanted to go to the Brattleboro Retreat because it was such a big campus and I equated that with busy and loud and impersonal. The Retreat would challenge my assumptions.

Getting There

I didn’t drive myself. As I said I spent four days in the ED of my local hospital and so I arrived via ambulance. The ride was stressful and nauseating. I was already stressed and nervous and the mountainous winding roads did absolutely nothing to help. I didn’t lay in the stretcher, but sat in a back-facing seat with no arm rests and with a blood pressure cuff around my left arm. 

The trip took about an hour and except for a few questions from the person riding in the back with me, it was spent in nearly complete silence, which again, did nothing to help my nerves. There was no reassurance or even light conversation.

My Arrival

When we got there, they grabbed my bags for me, probably because I wasn’t allowed to have them yet, and with one person before me and one person behind me, lead me up the stairs to the admissions office. We were met at the door by an admissions person and I was dropped off like an Amazon package. The ambulance personnel left and I was officially at the Retreat.

I was first led to Security. They dropped off my bags with Security, and asked me to empty my pockets. I had none and told them such. Then I was led to an exam room where the woman who was with me found a gown that would fit me and held it up in front of her. I was then told to strip completely. I balked, but obeyed. First went my shirt, then my bra, then I stepped into the gown. Then with that covering me, I wiggled out of my pants and underwear. She gave me a pair of hospital pants to put on so I wasn’t completely bare. Then I was shown a chair and given a pair of huge grippy socks to wear. One size fits all, I guess.

After that the lady took my blood pressure, my pulse, and checked my oxygen levels. Then she took my temperature.  My clothes and shoes were sent to Security with the rest of my things. I had off-brand crocs as shoes so I had no idea what they needed to check for, but off they went.

After the clothing change I was led to an office. I felt so awkward standing in a grey hospital gown, blue hospital pants, no panties, and those huge grippy socks, in front of two nicely dressed office personnel. They let me have a seat and the questions and paperwork began.

What was my insurance? Did I know about the extra inpatient days allowed? Who was my primary care physician? My therapist? My psychiatrist? My case worker? Did I have an Advanced Directive? What are the addresses? Did I want a male or female provider? There were so many questions! 

Then it was sign here, and here, and here, and here, and here.

After that I was given a green folder that said Welcome to Tyler 2 which contained various information that I would need during my time there. My patient Bill of Rights, how to file a complaint or grievance. That sort of stuff. 

Then it was off to another area and now they wanted a urine sample. I had already done two at the hospital and really didn’t need to pee, but I tried. I assume it was for a drug test, but I have no real clue.

Then I was sent off to another exam room, this time for a full physical. She asked me all about my medical history, whether I was having normal bowel movements or not, all about my diabetes, my family history (cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer, heart disease, cancer, kidney failure, cancer), she even checked my reflexes. The ARNP that examined me had the neatest notebook. It was electronic and I was fascinated by it. 

(At the time of writing this I’ve only been home for two full days and I still have a very clingy cat who is currently laying on my left hand so if you catch a typo that kitty has caused me, please let me know.)

After the physical I was given one outfit to wear back, sans bra because my bra was underwire, and I was sent to a seat to wait to be sent to the unit.

The lady who watched over me offered me something to drink while I waited and when she offered milk I took her up on it. Unfortunately it was 1% milk, which I really hate, but hey, milk, so I drank it while I waited.

I didn’t have to wait long. Before long a Security guard and a nurse from the unit I would go to came down and led me down one corridor, in one elevator, through a cafeteria, up another elevator, and finally I was on the unit.

Tyler 2 

The first thing I noticed when I got on the unit was that the bedrooms were singles. Yes! I hate sharing my bedroom in hospitals. At the worst, I’d once had to share with three other people stuffed into a two person bedroom. Two poor souls had had to sleep on cots. So I was very happy to see that I would have my own room.

I was shown into an interview room for yet even more paperwork and questions. All this is the business of the psychiatric hospital and it comes at the literal worst time of your stay, the beginning. When you’re scared and your nerves are raw, and your mental health is at it’s worst.

A three question questionnaire was first. Why are you here? How can we help? What are your coping skills? Depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation. I don’t know. Reading and journaling.

Then there was a check list of things that helped when I was feeling bad. I was fascinated to see that laying down in my room was one of the options. Most hospitals I had been in forbade that, with some going so far as to lock the doors to the bedrooms during the day so people didn’t sleep the day away. It was a pleasant surprise, and I checked that off along with a few others that I felt applied. 

Then, the nurse, and we’ll just call her Rose, asked me if I was hungry and told me that they always had sandwiches on the unit and that the kitchen which held milk, orange juice, flavored water, cold water, hot water, coffee, teas, and various snacks was open 24/7. I declined both sandwich and snack.

Finally, I was left alone for a couple of minutes and I had a moment to just breathe. It was a Thursday according to the giant whiteboard that had the day’s schedule on it. Most of the groups were over with.

A little bit later a bag was brought up with my clothes and another with the few things I was allowed to have: my Bible; two coloring books; two books (A Street Cat Named Bob and A Wrinkle in Time); my toothbrush, my hair brush, and my composition notebook; were given to me. The clothes I wasn’t given yet. I was told by a nurse that because of COVID they washed everything that came on the unit whether it was clean or not and I would get my clothes once they were dry.

I was then shown my room. Number 219 was to be my home for the foreseeable future. It was a fair sized room, the walls painted hospital blue, the floor had boring brown patterned tiles, There was a plastic chair, a twin size bed with a single pillow, and brown blanket, and bottom sheet. There was no flat sheet. 

There was a set of built in shelves and a small alcove with an unbreakable mirror and large shelf where I put my green folder as well as my other personal belongings that I was permitted to have. I hung around in there for a few minutes before wandering back out and awkwardly looked around.

It was soon 8:30pm and Rose, who was my nurse that night, offered me my bedtime medications. I accepted and went to bed. 

The Schedule

I slept fitfully that night. I was scared, they checked on me every 15 minutes, and it wasn’t quite dark when I went to bed. I woke up obscenely early the next morning, which is very unusual for me, but I attribute it to the uncomfortable mattress, the lack of my comfort item; a stuffed cat named Fat Cat that I sleep with, and the fact that my room had a double window that faced directly East. The sun rises at about 4:45am right now, so it woke me up at around 5:30am that morning.

I wandered out, thinking it was much later than it actually was, since it was fully light out. I sleepily blinked at the analog clock and tried to decipher it. Inwardly I groaned at the time. To kill time, I awkwardly wandered around the unit again, and I think I laid back down for a little while. 

Eventually I left my room again and it was 7:30am. Shift change. I can’t remember who my nurse was that morning, but by 8am it had become quite the busy place with the morning nurses, the mental health workers, the social workers, and the group leaders milling about the nurses station. 

I noticed that the whiteboard had changed with the day, and so I glanced at the Friday schedule.

8am - Breakfast 9am - Community Meeting 10am - OT Movement 11am - Psychotherapy 12pm - Lunch 1pm - Courtyard (yellow level) 2pm - OT Activities 3:30pm Shift Change 4pm - Courtyard (yellow level) 5pm - Supper 6:15pm - Game room/small courtyard (yellow level) 7pm - Wrap Up 8pm - Free Time 9pm - Relaxation 10pm - Phones/computer/TV off

Yes, we had a computer. Some guy we’ll just call J tended to hog it, but so long as it wasn’t group, before morning shift change or after 10pm or 11pm on Friday night and Saturday night, anybody could use it. Of course Facebook and YouTube were blocked, but Vimeo wasn’t. Can somebody please tell me the difference between YouTube and Vimeo? 

I didn’t really go to groups that first day, and I was on Red level, so I wasn’t allowed outside even if I had wanted to. I did however see the Social Worker, a very nice woman we’ll just call M. and my doctor via ZOOM, Dr. L. 

All of the staff was really nice to me, and the unit, which at that point had a census of 19, was actually fairly quiet for the most part.

When 8am hit, and the breakfast trays arrived, I asked where I should go to eat. I was told I could eat on the porch, the day room, or in my room. Eating in peace alone in my room. Yes, please. I took my tray, got a carton of milk, and walked down the hall to my room. 

When I pulled the lid off my plate, I discovered eggs, home fries, and a corn muffin. I also had some fruit. I cautiously tried the potatoes and found them to be quite good, but couldn’t eat anything else so I took my tray back.

I hovered awkwardly around the schedule board until somebody brought me a chair.

Then it happened. My stomach began churning. I went to the nurses station and told one of the three nurses that I had a bit of an upset stomach and could I have something for it? She looked up something and told me I could have some Tums. She sent me to the med window and used some fancy machine to dispense the Tums. I stuck them in my mouth and chewed. I swallowed. It was then that I knew I had made a mistake. I literally felt the Tums hit my stomach, felt my stomach cramp, and then I was vomiting. 

After that experience and the cleaning up thereof, I got my morning meds at around 9am, and soon found myself back in the interview room, this time with a nutritionist. At least I think that was Friday. It could have been Monday. Regardless, I talked to her about being sick (it wasn’t the first time, I had gotten sick back in the ED as well), my lack of appetite, my diabetes, the medication for diabetes I was on (2000mg of Metformin and .5mg of Ozempic). She gave me some information the nutritionist I had talked to from my doctor’s office had already given me, then ordered Glucerna for me three times per day.

Glucerna is the diabetics version of Ensure for those of you who don’t know.

I slept a lot that day, and I’m pretty sure I refused lunch and maybe supper. They checked on me - and everybody else - every 15 minutes, but otherwise didn’t pester me.

The next day, of course, started the weekend. I can’t remember the exact schedule for the weekend, but it was far, far more boring than then weekday. There was just Community Meeting which I wandered into but didn’t participate in, a couple more courtyard opportunities than on the weekdays, more free time, Wrap Up and Relaxation. Relaxation happened at 9pm, but I already considered that bedtime as that was when I got my bedtime medication.

Sunday was just a repeat of Saturday with one bright exception. Sunday Sundaes. At around 2pm we got ice cream with sundae toppings that we could have on it. I don’t think I got it that first Sunday, but I can’t quite remember.

Monday doesn’t bring any particular memories except that that’s when I started attending a group here and there.

Meeting Nathan

Then Tuesday came, and I met Nathan. Nathan was a Psych intern who is now no longer there, so I’m not afraid of using his name. Nathan did 11am Psychotherapy, but had been on vacation the week before as well as Monday. I liked him instantly. He spoke quietly, thoughtfully, gently, and never pressed for answers if the person didn’t want to or couldn’t.

At first, we only spoke in group, but after one group disintegrated into chaos he ended it early and offered to speak to me one-on-one. The one-on-one time I got with Nathan, which eventually became every weekday, became the best, most helpful part of my stay at the Retreat. Some of his questions were hard. They were either highly thought provoking or brought on strong emotions, but he was very skilled in not pushing too hard and always bringing me back to the present if I got too lost in the past. 

I think I opened up more to Nathan in the week and a half that we spoke than I ever did in the two years I’ve seen my normal therapist. 

The Nightmares

I’ve suffered from nightmares for a very long time. In my nightmares I’ve been raped, had my home invaded, seen demons, had my parents stolen away by a dragon (that one happened twice. Same stupid dragon too.), been kidnapped, been chased around Wal-Mart by paramedics with a stretcher, and so on and so forth. The nightmares I suffered at the Retreat were something else entirely.

The dream I remember most, and let me list off some trigger warnings real quick: blood; abortion; abuse; infant death; decomposition; bad parenting; bad medical professionals, was about this young woman who tried to do some sort of home abortion that got botched. She went to the hospital and they sent her strait to surgery where they cut her open with no painkillers or anesthesia. The baby was tiny, but healthy and viable, so they took her out of the young woman’s womb, and haphazardly stapled the woman’s abdomen back together. 

Then the dream began to focus on the baby, but not in linear time, but rather in snapshots. In the first snapshots the baby was fine. Pink, perfect, beautiful little girl dressed in frills. Then the next day’s photographs and the baby’s face was turning black in places. The next; her eyes turned murky and there was more decomposition. Mind you, while she’s decomposing, she’s still alive. Then her little fingers turn black and fall off, and it continues like this until the fifth day when the baby finally dies.

The mother, who was recovering from her own trauma, couldn’t have cared less about her baby.

The nightmare turned weird after that and I don’t remember what happened next, but I continued to have vicious nightmares during my stay there.

Dr. L tried to treat them with Prazosin. but I found that it made my nightmares more vivid. Then she tried to get me in a deeper sleep so the dreams wouldn’t wake me up, but that only got me caught in the nightmares and unable to wake up. 

We never did figure out how to ease the nightmares and keep me asleep at the same time. Right now we’re trying a higher dose of Gabapentin, also known as Neurontin. I guess we’ll see how it works out.

Strange Characters 

There were some...interesting characters at the Retreat. There was one guy who we’ll call J. You may recall him from my complaints about him being a computer hog. He suffered from delusions of grandeur and I believe psychosis. One time I was in the open area near the nurses station he began staring at me suspiciously. Then, after a couple of very awkward moments he asks me, “are you an Imperial or a Rebel?” I told him I had no idea what he was referring to. Miss J who was sitting near by goes, “she’s an imperial, she’s a good girl.” Then J nods and says  “I know she’s my sister in Christ, so she must be good.”

I still have no idea what he meant by Imperial or Rebel. Is it a Star Wars thing? If so I thought the Rebels were the good guys. I’m so confused. 

Miss J was a homeless woman who had been there for nearly nine weeks. She was very nice to me, but she mumbled a lot and I had to keep asking her to repeat herself. 

M was a strange old lady. She would sit at the nurses station and laugh and laugh and laugh as loudly as she could, then all of the sudden she’d be declaring one of the housekeepers an angel on earth and how he should be protected and how everybody else was basically garbage. She eventually got taken out via ambulance.

A was another strange woman. Having been there since May 27th, 2021, she was there involuntary, She talked to herself a lot, drank loads of coffee, walked in and out of groups, and was best buddies with a woman who liked to be called Rabbit, as her real name, the same name as A, triggered her. A and Rabbit were thick as thieves and fed off of each other’s chaos.

Rabbit liked to sing at the top of her lungs when she was happy and when she was angry she would file a grievance, announce loudly that Obama was her father and that you (the nurse she was screaming at) aren’t her boss. She was nice enough to me, but I went out of my way to be as non-intrusive as possible.

Then there was D. D was 30-years-old, claimed to have 12 children. D was volatile, a substance abuser who enjoyed “a drink, some weed, and some coke”. Pretty sure she didn’t mean the soda. D had a shadow who had to write down what she was doing every five minutes. I don’t know exactly why, for the most part, volatile or not, she was pretty chill. She dressed provocatively and the first time she spoke to me it was early morning and we were on the porch.

She asked me why I was there. I told her depression. She asks my why I was depressed. I admitted that there was a lot of trauma in my past. She tells me she’s been (tw:rape) raped all her life, and then proceeded to tell me that I shouldn’t be depressed because I was pretty and thin. Now. I’m smaller than D was, because I’ve never had children, let alone 12 of them, but I’m 5′3″ and 210 pounds; thin is not an adjective I would use to describe me. 

She then proceeds to tell me that I needed a better bra. I was wearing a soft low support sports bra, so yeah, my chest area was very un interesting. I told her I was just wearing something I could sleep comfortably in. She told me to shop at Victoria’s Secret for some better bras and I’d feel great. 

After that, D decides to mention the gray in my hair. She says “you should get extensions to make your hair long and pretty, or better yet, shave your head and wear wigs. It’s what the black girls do.” She then went on about how wigs could really look good and how I’d have so much fun with it that I’d forget all about being depressed and how there were some sites where you could buy some good wigs for really cheap.

As I recall, I was fairly unresponsive during her spiel and walked away as soon as it wasn’t rude to. 

The Really Bad Day

I don’t recall exactly what day it was, time blurs for me on a good day, and I wasn’t having any good days while I was at the Retreat, but one day was really bad.

TW: Suicide TW: Self-Harm

I was really, really suicidal, and I told the nurse I was talking to that. She asked if I had a plan, and for the first time I really did. I told her I would wait until right after a check - remember we got checked on every 15 minutes - then I would take a pair of my pants and wrap them around my neck and strangle myself. 

Then she asked if I intended to follow through with the plan. I wanted to, I really did, but I also didn’t want to cause trouble, and that’s a huge issue with me, so I told her no. And that was the truth. I was suicidal, I did have a plan. I had a detailed plan actually. But I didn’t really intend of following through.

As you might expect, she had to report that to my doctor. Dr. L. spoke to me about how I was feeling and later, about five minutes after I had gotten on the computer to use Duolingo to distract myself, (See, I was using coping skills.), the nurse I had spoken to, and who I liked quite a lot, came to me and said that Dr. L wanted them to temporarily confiscate my clothes and take the sheet and blanket off my bed. It was to be replaced by blankets that couldn’t be ripped. Nurse E told me it wasn’t a punishment, it was a safety precaution, but I was so embarrassed and felt punished. I was allowed to keep the weighted blanket they had let me borrow, and my pillow, but other than that they took every bit of fabric in the room.

I don’t know if it was a good move or not. I just know that I wanted things back to ‘normal’, as though anything in a psych hospital could be normal, but the next day I lied to Dr. Lambert and told her I was feeling better. She said I could have my stuff back, but for some reason when I asked a nurse later on, she told me that there were no orders about it from Dr. L. 

I asked again the next day and was finally able to get my linens and clothes back. I even got an extra pillow, for which I was very grateful for as my original pillow had been quite flat and hard.

The Road to Discharge

I was originally supposed to have been released on June 29th, a Tuesday, but I had to admit to Dr. L that I just didn’t feel like I could be safe at home yet. Not to mention that we were still trying to deal with my nightmares and sleep issues.

Dr. L and M, my social worker began giving me assignments to do. I was to fill out a safety plan, which I did. M had me write a letter to my regular therapist about the changes I needed her to make to improve our sessions. I am terrified to read it to her, but I really need to. I was given a huge stack of DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) information and worksheets to fill out, Nathan had me write something about a cousin of mine who had passed away due to an overdose of Fentanyl, and so I wrote her a letter telling her how much I missed her, how I was angry she was gone, disappointed that she couldn’t tell me she was back on drugs, how I was angry at her mom for getting her hooked on drugs in the first place, and ways I could have helped if she had just let me.

Meanwhile, people found out that I could make things out of the Model Magic that they had in the Contraband/Sensory room. I made I can’t even remember how many cats for people. I also made roses, and one dragon. 

I was also writing dark poetry, just trying to purge my dark thoughts and get them out on paper.

Nathan continued to have one-on-one therapy with me each weekday, even if he only had half an hour.

I was meeting with my social worker daily, which they normally didn’t do, but when she realized that I wouldn’t go to them if I needed something, she decided to head it off, and meet with me, even if it were only a couple of minutes, each week day.

Finally, we decided on a day. Friday, July 2, 2021. I was so nervous, but so excited to come home and see my furbaby, Loki. 

When the day came, I dressed in the nicest clothes that I had brought, which was a pair of elastic waist jeggings and my pink Cat Mom t-shirt which everybody loved. I only went to one group that day, and that was Psychotherapy, and I had my meeting with Nathan. I had one last meeting with Dr. L. and my social worker. My nurse that evening gave me my treatment plan which had my diagnoses. (Major depressive disorder, severe; Borderline Personality Disorder; and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Just as supper arrived I got the word that my ride was there. 

Final Thoughts

Being at the Brattleboro Retreat was a difficult experience, but it was also a positive experience. In the beginning I was mad I wasn’t at the place where I had wanted to go, which was the Windham Center, but by the end of my first week there, I had decided to make the best of where I was. I didn’t like all the nurses, I definitely had my favorites and those I dreaded, not that they were ever mean to me, but I’m not sure, there’s just people you don’t like, you know? 

I was on a great schedule while I was there. I was up no later than 8am and went to bed around 9pm, I ate at specific times. I got my medicine at specific times, and that routine was very comforting. Did I keep to it when I got home? 

No. It’s currently 12:26 in the morning and I’m working on this still. 

I’m still drinking my Glucerna, no matter that it costs me $40 a week for three a day, but I just don’t want to eat. Oh, I nibble. I’ve eaten some chocolate graham crackers and sipped on a 20oz Vanilla Coca Cola over the last four days. I just don’t eat. 

I learned, while I was there, that it’s okay to speak up, to take up space, to have a voice, even if it’s quiet, I learned that it’s okay to get angry or ask for help. I can ask people for what I need. I don’t know how well I’ll be able to apply what I learned, but that’s always the hardest part of learning any new skill. 

I know that this has been a huge amount of reading, but I wanted to give you a detailed example of what a psychiatric hospital is like. I hope that it informs you and I hope that if you’re heading to a psychiatric hospital or treatment center that maybe after reading this you’ll have less fear and anxiety because you have some clue as to what to expect.

I would also like to let my readers know that these are just my personal experiences in an American psychiatric hospital. I have no idea about British hospitals or European hospitals or even hospitals in other parts of the United States. My experiences in hospitals in Florida is a stark contrast to my experience in Vermont hospitals. I find Vermont’s response to medical care and psychiatric care in general is substantially better than Florida’s. I’ll do a post on that later.

Ask for help. Take up space. Use your voice.

National Suicide Hotline: 800 273-8255 Crisis Text Line: Text START to 741741

By the way, if you need me to tag another trigger word, please just send me a message and I’ll edit the tags to take your trigger word in consideration.

[andkaboodle]

Addison’s Arrival

Today’s blog is all about my labour with Addi. It gets a little gross in parts but it’s (I think) worth the lols. I’ll post a big *HERE* if you want to skip to the hospital part and miss all the build up.

To set the scene for you, picture yourself being 39 weeks and 6 days pregnant. It’s literally the middle of summer in Australia, a 39 degree day. Everyone else is  celebrating your favourite holiday and you’re sober, cranky, sore and sweating up a storm.

J and my mum had been dealing with my ‘so-over-this’ complaints for about two weeks at this stage and they’d both told me that as soon as I took my mind off it, bub would start to ‘descend’... ew. So I’d decided I was going to suck it up and enjoy the Australia Day party the best I could.

We arrived at our friends’ house and that’s when I saw it. The true love of my life. A brand new, 8ft wide, blow up pool. That was where I was spending my day today and no one could tell me otherwise. I was happy.

My short lived happiness was destroyed while I was up going to the toilet (I’m not that gross that I’d pee in the tiny pool) and I came back to find that one of the boys had cut his knee open during the slip’n’slide and ended up in my sanctuary, bleeding his germy germs everywhere. I was devastated.

I spent the next few hours sulking in the air conditioning while a drunk husband provided sausages and bread to his heavily pregnant beast of a wife. “As long as she’s fed, she won’t make me go home.”

To make matters worse, friends of ours rocked up with their 2 week old baby, purely to rub it in my face that they weren’t having to suffer through this heat and discomfort anymore.

Come 1pm and the sausages were not agreeing with me or foetus Addi anymore. I told Jarrod to ease up on his drinking as he may have to drive home after the party so I could nap my tummy ache away. “Ok, baby. But you’ll be fiiine!” were his exact words and he did not ‘ease up’ one bit. I pushed through the last five hours of the Triple J Hottest 100 to hear Flume smash out Never be Like You at number 1 (called it!).

We bailed as quick as we could but had to make a detour on the way home to drop off a phone that was left at the party. While Jarrod ran the phone inside to his mate, his wife and her best friend came out to thank me for a good day. I made a mention of my tummy being sore and they asked to feel my belly... “You know you’re in labour, right?” “Nah, I think I’d know if I was.” “Well when are you due?” “Tomorrow... Jarrod!! Get in the car!”

The girls wished me good luck (which did not ease my sudden panicked state) and we rushed home to call the hospital. My sister in-law was home and, thank my lucky stars, was a studying midwife. She felt my tummy and excitedly confirmed that this was indeed contractions. I went for a shower while J called the hospital and received his husbandly duty instructions.

Then it was all very mellow... apart from the intense stabbing pain near my hoo-ha every 6mins and 20secs. J ended up having something to eat and playing x-box, trying to sober up. I ended up doing my makeup (because I wanted to look nice when my baby saw me for the first time).

It was about 10:30pm when the contractions were closer together and (at the time, I thought) unbearable, we grabbed the hospital bag, said goodbye to Jess and headed off to the hospital with a drunk baby-daddy driver in the pouring rain. We were off to a good start with this responsible parenting thing!

*HERE* - for those who only want the gory bits

Once we got to the North West Private Hospital (I only remember the name because of Kim and Kanye’s daughter), we were shown to our room in which the air con had shit itself. Great. I had sweat off my makeup within 10mins.

A lovely Irish midwife named Bonnie came in with an evil little plan. She asked if she could feel how things were going ‘down there’ and told me it wouldn’t hurt as she needed me relaxed. Then the devil/angel lady pulled something (my cervix? mucus plug? I’m not sure) which hurt so badly I think I nearly broke Jarrod’s arm. Lucky I was holding him back though because his instinct was to push her away from me.

From there, everything is very blurry in my memory. I was given pain relief pills which I immediately vomited, an injection soon after which made me very giddy and then the laughing gas which I told the nurse I was going to leave J for. I said some weird shit on that gas; called my parents and congratulated them prematurely, took some snapchats, laughed at J when he started spewing out all the day’s alcohol and Bonnie thought he was just a weak little bitch. But let me tell you, it didn’t help the pain AT ALL. It just made me forget about it in between the stabs.

Fast forward to 6am and my OBGYN had arrived. She told me it was a good day to have a baby and I remembered that it was her birthday too! She jokingly asked if I was going to name the baby Kate after her, and I (drugged up and not getting the joke) let her down easy and apologised about us already having a name picked out.

She soon decided to break my waters for me which honestly, wasn’t painful at all; but it was such a strange sensation that I passed out straight away. When I woke up, I heard Kate say ‘there she is’ and druggo Kit thought she was talking about my baby. Score! I’d been unconscious for the birth of my baby and didn’t feel any of the painful pushes and tears!

She asked Jarrod to take me to the bathroom to get undressed and cleaned up. I kept telling him how easy that was and that I didn’t know why women were so dramatic about it. He started hosing me down with the shower head and I decided to help out a bit. That is when the most disgusting thing ever, in our entire relationship happened...

As I washed between my legs, I felt some sort of gunk and tugged on it to wash it away. Jarrod gagged and ordered me not to touch it. Drugged up Kit don’t take no orders from no one, so I just yanked it right out in front of me.  “Holy cow! What is this?!” I said laughing, while J dry retched in the corner of the en suite. “It’s like a magician’s handkerchief! It just keeps coming!” as I pulled the never ending string of mucus out of myself.

While Jarrod tells people that it was the most horrendous thing he’s ever witnessed, I found it hilarious. My laughing soon stopped though, when the worst contraction began. I just looked at J, expecting him to explain why this was still happening when Addi was out already. It was then that the drugs must have worn off enough for me to notice my still huge, still rock hard belly and that Kate was talking about me coming around, not my baby coming out. I just started silently crying. I was so scared. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be in pain anymore.

I hopped back on the bed, naked and miserable. J assumed the hand-holding position and tried to give me a pep talk. I started to feel like Hell itself was erupting out of me and the midwife rushed in. “She’s coming out!” I yelled and the midwife told me that it just feels like that in the beginning. “No! She’s f*cking coming ooooout!” She checked under the blanket and with a quiet “oh” ran to get Dr Kate.

Birthday Girl, Kate, strolled in putting her gloves on and with a surprisingly motivating tone said, “let’s do this thing, ready to push?” Sorry J, but that sentence got me more pumped up than your whole 5min speech about what a strong, amazing woman I was.

I’m going to skip these details, not because they’re too gruesome but because I don’t want to put anyone off having children. Let me just say three things.

1. Screaming helped, so don’t hold back if you feel like you need to let it out.

2. Don’t forget to breathe because apparently my deep breaths were the only thing that stopped me tearing.

3. And don’t look at your partner. The look of absolute heartache I saw in his eyes as he watched me helplessly, made things so much worse.

After what felt like 3 days, but was only 21 minutes of pushing, Addi was pulled up onto my chest. She was quiet as those little black-blue eyes checked out the parents she was now stuck with. J was a mess, holding my neck with one hand and Addi’s with the other. “It’s a girl. Baby, it’s a girl.” “Yeah, we f*cking knew that already.”

Sorry! But I was tirrred and all out of any possible emotion. I unwillingly delivered the afterbirth and I was asleep before J even cut the cord.

I woke up 3 hours later to him holding and talking to our little princess who had been all cleaned up and was warm, comfy and safe in daddy’s arms.

Addison Rae Hindmarsh Weighing  3.165kg or 7lbs born on 27th January 2017 at 8:31am

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Triple f  day  [flashpoint fanfiction friday]

 

(Sometimes you wonder if this attack was planned)

Staring the whole team.

Greg : pov  the new guy on team 4 is weird, the way he stares at jules, he always seems so angry around her to me. The other team leaders/Sargent's are talking about him since Donna is out for a few weeks for her honeymoon Carl has never been around another woman officer, only Jules. We think it might be a woman he does not like, we are not sure. Spike and Wordy are restocking the self while Sam and Jules exercise together. We decided to watch him closely from now on.

Wordy : pov me and spike are restocking the shelf and telling jokes. We talk about family and I told him the girls made get well soon cards for his dad, and I would drop them off tomorrow so he could give them to his dad.

Sam : pov I had to pee so bad but I did not want to leave jules alone that one officer Carl is weird around her. Since no one was in the gym, jules told me she would be fine. and to go pee 2 minutes after, on my way back to the gym I hear her scream really loud I manage to pull him of off her. Since he was choking her he ran off,  while I caught her before she fell onto the floor. I laid her down then checked her vitals. She was not breathing and unconscious. I managed to call winnie, and have her call medics and have wordy bring a medical kit. A few seconds later and wordy arrived with the medical kit I opened it. And grabbed the resuscitation mask i had wordy slowly pumping air into jules. I felt around her neck and put an ice pack on it, to try and keep the swelling  down. spike was by the door waiting for the medics.

Jules : pov I was working out with sam while he was in the bathroom. Carl came into the gym and started yelling about how women are worthless, useless and have no place on an sru team. He accused me of hoarding the work out equipment for myself. All of a sudden he started to attack me. He was choking me but I managed to scream before Sam came and everything started to turn black it was so hard to breathe.

Ed : pov we were not fast enough and that sob attack jules now we need to go find him, sam is taking care of jules we are looking in every room for him even in the closets. He was not on the main floor of the building. His car was still in the parking lot so he could not have gone very far.

Sam : pov I found an epi pen in the medical kit and decided to try it to see if it would help open up her airway. Once the medics arrived they took over, I told them her vitals and what happened.  A medic named Terry tilted her head back and inserted a number 5et tube since her airway was closing, he went with a smaller tube. Once it was properly in place he secured it and then inserted an iv in her arm. He also hooked her up to some monitors. I rode with her the whole way to the er. A dr and a specialist were waiting for us in triage room one. They gave jules some pain meds since she was starting to stir a little. Once she was back asleep a dr named Jerry did an ultrasound of her neck while dr Jen felt around she said everything feels okay, but she wants some scans to be sure. 40 minutes later and she came back to talk about the results. She said it is very severe bruising of the airway with some soft tissue that is injured/inflamed it will be at least 3 days before the breathing tube can come out. Maybe more he went to tell the team the update on jules while she was moved to the icu.

Spike : what happened to jules was so scary. I'm so glad Troy and Greg thought to look in the woman's bathroom because they found him hiding in there. Sam gave us an update on her injury; it does not sound good at all. The dr told Sam a few more seconds and she would have died. He really did save her life today. We visited her every day for 5 day.

Sam : pov it has been 5 days  since the attack the dr said we could try and wake her up just slowly. At noon jules woke up and was trying to pull her breathing tube out.  The specialist dr Jen came in and checked jules's vitals then started to take the tube out. Once it was out she switched her to an oxygen mask. She told her no talking, swallowing will be hard and hurt alot. A nurse wheeled in a cart with some  supplies on it, dr Jen said it is for her feeding tube jules was not happy with that at all once the dr placed the feeding tube down jules's nose she taped it in place and started administering the tube food.

Jules : pov ugh the feeding tube is ruff, swallowing hurts, breathing hurts. I'm just plain miserable, I fell asleep until 6 then the team came by. They talked with me About their day and how the new recruits are working out. I wrote my sentences down on a dry erase board so I could be included in the conversation. The team left at 7 except for Greg who stayed a little while extra so Sam could eat, it was awesome Greg stayed with me for a bit, we got to talk about stuff so he talked I wrote what I wanted to say afterwards me, and Sam went to bed. In the morning I got transferred to a regular room. Then Sam showered while my dr checked my vitals and stuff she said I could shower if I wanted to.

Sam : pov Dr Jen said jules could shower but the oxygen mask goes back on immediately after. A shower chair was put in the bathroom for jules 15 minutes later and jules was back in bed and asleep. I went down to the cafeteria for lunch. It was now 1pm and Jules was up and we watched a movie. Jules signed to me that she was thankful I saved her life. Yesterday shelly had stopped at jules house in the morning and got her some clothes which jules was wearing now. Tomorrow jules had physical therapy and a form of food therapy. The team came to visit for 1 hour, Wordy talked about his kids and so did ed they even had get well soon cards from their kids. After we went to bed. It was the 7th day jules had spent in the hospital, jules did not get her morning feeding.  A guy from Food therapy came to see jules, Dr Jen switched her to nasal oxygen, he checked her throat and cleared her to try liquids. Water was the first down it was ruff but it went down, her breakfast was a protein drink. After the physical therapist came to work with Jules she had her walking around and doing some light exercises. Lunch was some chicken broth. Dr Jen cleared jules to not need oxygen one step closer to getting released. Sam played a few board games with jules she showered, so did sam dinner was a smoothie for jules and a sandwich for him. The team came by and talked about their day and how jules was doing. They talked for an hour while jules signed/wrote down what she wanted to say after Dr Jen came in and gave jules her medicine for her throat. She pulled Sam aside to talk about jules and how she was making good progress, she said if everything looks good tomorrow they can start to talk about  a release plan for her.

Jules : pov

It was the next morning my breakfast was a protein shake, the lady from pt was ruff everything was so sore I guess a week of not moving does that to you. Lunch was more broth this time it was beef flavored. Sam had a roast beef sandwich then we both showered. I was taken down for some neck/throat scan which made me scared Dr Jen said everything was looking better. She said I could try and talk but to not use my voice too much it will hurt a lot. I tried to talk but nothing happened. I was then taken for more test and  scans afterwards a speech therapist came by to see me. She said it might take time and hard work but I would talk again. Later After dinner which was a smoothie for me and pasta for sam. The guy from food therapy came by and talked about solid foods I can have starting tomorrow. 

Sam : pov the team came over at six, I told them the good news jules could have solid starting tomorrow I also told them the not so good news that jules could not talk yet The dr cleared her for it but no sound came out when she tried she thinks it is temporary. In the morning jules got her feeding tube taken out it was not pretty. Breakfast was apple sauce which went down dr Jen said jules would need to eat soft foods for a week and then go from there at her follow up appointment. Jules was so excited she signed does this mean I'm getting released and dr Jen said after lunch if all looks good. I called Greg and told him the good news jules had oatmeal for lunch. I had some eggs, wordy called and asked me if jules needed anything food wise because shelly is at the grocery store and can pick it up so when you get home there will be soft foods available for jules. Sam thanked wordy and told him what jules could eat he said shelly could pick up some baby food. Since that is very soft and comes in a lot of flavors. Sam asked Jules, she said it was okay with her. 40 minutes later and jules was getting released dr Jen handed jules her speech therapy scheduled. The speech therapist had handed to her she was cleared for light workouts and exercising and to not over do it. At home shelly had left a note, jules napped until dinner which was banana baby food jules, signed it tasted good. We showered and went to bed. In the morning I got jules showered and my self her breakfast was a protein drink. We made it to her therapy appointment on time. Since they had run some tests at the hospital they knew all about her medical history the slp named Jessica did some manual  circumlaryngeal techniques on jules. She also showed us some stretches and self massage techniques. After we went home and jules ate mashed potatoes, she then fell asleep until dinner which was more baby food peas and carrots yum. Tomorrow she had more speech therapy. To be continued........

[carasueachterberg]

If it’s painful, you become willing not just to endure it but also to let it awaken your heart and soften you. You learn to embrace it. – Pema Chodron

The heavy sadness that followed me everywhere this weekend despite the sunshine, seems to have let up a bit. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’ve had my first real sleep in three nights or that the tide has truly turned in my puppy pen.

If you’ve been following on the Facebook Another Good Dog group, you know that it has been a tragic few days here.

After three nights of nearly no sleep, it’s hard to remember the order of events, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I mix up a detail or two.

As I mentioned in the previous post, Darlin’s temperature dropped soon after she arrived here Thursday afternoon which meant that labor was imminent.

It started out well with Darlin’ beginning serious labor around 4am on Friday morning. She panted and worried and we took many strolls around the yard. She grew anxious whenever I left the room, so I got a book and hunkered down to wait. Finally, around 8:30am she began seriously pushing and I called Deb, another foster, who had agreed to come help me.

At 9:35 we had our first pup- a brown male. He looked tiny to me- easily half the size of Estelle’s newborns and considering Estelle weighed less than half of what Darlin’ weighed that was my first cause for worry. Darlin’s belly was huge and if all the pups were this size, there were going to be a lot of puppies. The pup was pretty lifeless, but Darlin’ licked him to life, and I tried to help him find a teat.

As labor continued, Darlin’ became restless and tried to dig up the bedding to bury the pup.  We wondered if it was Deb’s presence, so she backed out of sight and remained in the hallway. Deb called several other OPH people for me to get their advice. The puppy seemed weak and mom seemed panicked. The other dogs could hear what was happening and they whined at the gate where they were confined in the living room. Both Vera and Estelle have been mamas, and their interest and concern was evident.

The second pup, a black and white girl, arrive 40 minutes later. She was even tinier, but she came out screaming and thrashing and easily latched on to her mom. Okay, I thought, this litter is going to be huge but maybe they’ll be okay.

Darlin’ remained panicky and began trying to pick up the pups to take them outside. It occurred to me that she may have had all her other litters outside and she felt a need to hide the puppies. Tracy, another puppy foster, said Darlin’ must not feel safe yet and suggested we do something to muffle the noise of the house and the other dogs, so I found a fan and Deb placed it outside the room on high. I turned off the lights in the room, except the warm glow of the grow lights over my flowers. Darlin’ calmed down.

She delivered pups 3, 4, and 5 in fairly quick succession. Each pup was small – somewhere between the size of the first born and the tiny spitfire girl pup who was still nursing strongly. All three were nearly lifeless upon arrival, but perked up and nursed once Darlin’ attended to them. I tried to help them find a teat and get the milk started. Edith and Estelle’s pups hadn’t needed so much assistance. Was I doing too much? Not enough?

By 1pm, Darlin’s belly still looked large, but deflated. Maybe she is just fat, I thought, as I took her outside and she pottied. She didn’t want the food I offered, but gobbled up chicken jerky treats and drank plenty of water. She was still uneasy and kept trying to pick up several of the pups and carry them out of the room. I had to redirect her back each time and I worried that she would hurt a pup in the rough way she carried them—they squalled each time. I remember Edith gently picking up her pups and moving them into a pile so she could watch or warm them. This was nothing like that. This was more like Darlin’ grabbing a bag of groceries and hauling it out.

My son Ian walked the other dogs and I was able to get a few breaks, even prepping dinner and getting it in the crock pot thanks to Deb, who sat in the doorway and kept an eye on Darlin’, calling me when she began trying to remove pups.

By the middle of the afternoon, Darlin’ was resting, all five pups were nursing. I breathed a sigh of relief and Deb took off.

My biggest concern was that Darlin’ was still not eating anything but chicken jerky treats. Other than that, though, she seemed normal except for her occasional efforts to remove several of the pups. She seemed to always pick up the same two, but I didn’t think anything of that until later. I stayed close, though, because whenever I left, she attempted to bury the pups in the towels lining the box or tried to carry them to the door to take them outside.

My husband arrived home from picking up my oldest son from college and we all sat down for a late dinner and a much needed glass of wine. I was out of the puppy pen, maybe an hour, but when I returned there was a sixth puppy. It was cold and barely moving and Darlin’ was ignoring it and nursing the other pups. I rubbed it and warmed it; it was definitely alive. She was a little black girl puppy. I helped her find a teat and she suckled weakly.

Were there more? Darlin’ seemed calm as long as I stayed in the room. I kept remembering the advice I’d been given about not letting too much time go between pups – no more than two, maybe three hours, before you should call the vet. It had been seven. I called my neighbor and vet, Chris, and he came right over.

He said Darlin’ looked good and she stood up and wagged her tail for him. Her gums were pink, she was drinking and peeing, she didn’t seem uncomfortable, she had no fever. He checked to make sure there were no more pups in the birth canal and palpated her. He hesitated and said, he was fairly sure it was just uterus he was feeling, but we wouldn’t know unless we did an xray. We decided that since Darlin’ seemed fine, we’d wait. If she was in distress later, we’d get an xray. It seemed too risky to take her and her fragile pups to the clinic for an xray unless it was an emergency. Darlin’ was acting fine. As long as I didn’t leave the room, she didn’t attempt to take the pups out or bury them anymore. I snapped pictures and posted them on Instagram and Facebook. New puppies!

I stayed up watching Darlin’ until I began falling asleep upright next to the puppy box. I needed sleep, so at midnight, I barricaded the door to the room (there is no actual door on our puppy room) and went to bed. At about 3am, I heard the other dogs whining and raced to the puppy room to discover that Darlin’ had delivered another puppy. This one was long and skinny and black—a boy. He was weak and I stayed up the rest of the night making sure he nursed. It was only a half-hearted effort, but he did latch on.

By morning, I was exhausted and didn’t trust my judgment. I called others who knew more and everyone agreed it was odd, but miraculous that the two late puppies had survived. I stayed in the box with the puppies until late morning, making sure everyone was nursing at least every two hours. Two of the original five had me worried. They were nursing, but weren’t getting the little plump bellies that my other puppies had all had. I checked that Darlin’ had milk and it easily came out. The ‘late puppies’ seemed to be doing well, too, nursing on their own now. Still, I was uneasy and so was Darlin’.

At lunchtime, I needed a break. Nick suggested we take a walk. It was a gorgeous day. We ran into neighbors who were out for the same reasons and walked together. Estelle and Vera were thrilled at the outing. When we came back, Darlin’ had twirled the towels into a nest and buried almost all the puppies inside it. Terrified, I unwrapped the puppies, who were fine. I got everyone settled in and nursing. The two puppies, I’d worried about were still looking thin, but when I helped them find a teat, they suckled. The afternoon went by and Darlin’ continued to try to remove those two puppies. It was a little dance we did. She picked one up and took a step towards the door. I said, “No!” firmly and she put it back down.

I left the pups to make dinner and when I came back the two puppies were beginning to feel cold to me. I don’t know if it was because of all the carrying or the fact that she left them alone so much. I had tried to keep them on the heating pad as much as possible or up against their mama, but Darlin’ kept picking them up and trying to take them out of the box.

As the evening wore on, I repeatedly tried to put them to her teats, but they only suckled half-heartedly and fell off if I didn’t hold them in place. Again and again, I tried to get them to nurse, squirting out some milk and wiping it on their lips and in their mouths. They faded so fast. There was no time to call anyone, do anything. They passed silently, quietly lying against their mama’s side while the other pups were nursing.

This made me desperate to make sure everyone else was nursing. Pup #7 had the same long, skinny look the two that died had, but he seemed to be strong and when I put him on a teat, he latched on. Still, every chance she got Darlin’ carried him around, trying to take him out of the box, out of the room. What did she know? I wondered. Would we lose him, too?

I stayed up the whole night, sitting in the box so that Darlin’ wouldn’t take pup #7 out. She ignored him, but allowed me to try to get him to nurse. Towards morning, he began to grow cold and wouldn’t latch on, so I put him under my shirt and tried to warm him up. It was becoming clear he wasn’t going to make it. I watched the others, wondering if I would lose every one of them one by one.

Only one pup aggressively looked for a teat—pup #2, the tiny little girl I’d been calling Doodlebug. The others would nurse, once I got them started. I watched the clock and followed Doodlebug’s lead. When she began trying to nurse, I lined up everyone else. Pup #7 was too weak to nurse now and I laid him against his mama for warmth.

  Watching him pass was beyond painful. I don’t know if it was my tears or her own sadness, but Darlin’ picked up the pup and carried him around the box, whining. I know she wanted to take him out. She knew he was dying. Is it instinct that makes a dog do this? I had a pony once who was 39 years old and dying of old age. She grew weaker day by day, but every morning she would labor her way up to the far corner of the field, away from the other horses and remain there all day until I brought her back down each night. I’ve heard that dogs and cats will disappear when it is their time. Why do they leave? One person told me it’s a herd thing—they know they’re dying and don’t want to draw predators. That seems awfully selfless, perhaps it’s only our human desire to give it an altruistic spin. Whatever the reason, when Darlin’ pulled a towel and pawed it into a nest in the corner, away from the others, I didn’t stop her. She lay puppy #7 down in the nest and then lay alongside it and waited while the pup passed.

That was the lowest moment of the entire weekend. I still can’t get that tiny pup’s little face and silent cries out of my head. I felt so helpless. When my tears finally stopped, I still felt helpless, but I was also angry. The people responsible for this tragedy will never know it. Whoever fed this dog and called her their own, didn’t care enough to have her spayed. This was not Darlin’s first litter. This was nothing like watching Estelle’s bewilderment delivering her first puppies. Darlin’ knew what was happening. Twice, when a puppy wasn’t emerging quickly enough, she reached around and pulled the pup the rest of the way out with gentle teeth.

This dog should have been spayed years ago. Even if she came from a poor family, most shelters and rescues will spay for free. In fact, World Spay Day is coming up in another week. OPH is partnering with many vet clinics, including the one right here in York County, to pay for spay operations for anyone who can’t afford it. I was planning to go to the clinic that day so that I could write about it. I’m certain there were opportunities like this where Darlin’ came from, and yet, no one could be bothered.

How many puppies has Darlin’ already produced? If she is six-years-old, as the health certificate states, a conservative estimate is 70 pups. I’m willing to bet anyone who Darlin’s owner gave or sold a pup to, wasn’t the kind of person to spay their dog. There could be hundreds, if not thousands of more puppies out there because of Darlin’.

Whoever allowed this dog to get pregnant again, and then tossed her to a shelter where she could be euthanized – that person has never watched a puppy die. She or he has never sat in the near dark, cradling a cold puppy to her chest, sobbing, hoping, praying, wishing that this world was different, that people were better, and feeling completely hopeless to change any of it. If they had, this never would have happened.

The rest of Sunday was a fog of desperately trying to get the remaining four puppies to nurse. Darlin’ had begun trying to carry pup #1, a brown male pup I’d been calling Puddin’ Head, out of the box. I called everyone frantically—what can I do? What can I do?

Laurie, the current director of OPH, whom I’d met at the airport when I picked up Darlin’ suggested I try wiping Karo syrup on their gums. She said their sugars were probably low and this might give them energy to nurse.

She also told me that OPH would support any decision I made. If I wanted to haul all the pups to the Pet ER and get them hydrated with IV’s and put in intensive care and start them on bottle feeding, then do it. If I wanted to take Darlin’ in and get another xray to be sure there was nothing there, that would be fine. All I had to do was contact the OPH medical coordinator and get that ball rolling.

I told Laurie I didn’t want to do these things. I didn’t say this because I’m a heartless person. My heart was breaking over these pups, minute by minute. I said this because as I sat in that box and watched my pups struggling, I knew that much of this is out of our hands. We could do everything and spend thousands trying to save these pups, and ultimately they might not make it. And then we have thousands of dollars less to save dogs that will make it. How many were dying by euthanasia in a shelter as I sat and scrambled to keep my pups alive?

No, I told Laurie, I would do what I could here, but I didn’t think we should spend the resources. Dogs have been doing this for ages without any help from us. If these four pups are strong enough to survive, they’d make it and if they didn’t, then lets use that money to go rescue fifty in their place.

After applying the syrup, three of the pups did perk up and two even latched on without my assistance, but the brown pup wasn’t interested and Darlin’ kept carrying him away. I stayed in the box all day. I was afraid to leave. It seemed like every time I did, the situation got worse.

Slowly, as I watched, three of the pups perked up. Doodlebug had always been the strongest—ironic, because she is clearly the runt, tiny and half as long as the others. But now the other two pups, pup #6 (who we’d been calling BOGO, ever since she surprised us with her late appearance) and pup# 5, Schnookie Putz, a larger male version of Doodlebug, with Boston Terrier coloring, were nursing vigorously.

Only the brown pup, Puddin’ Head, remained lethargic. I wiped more Karo syrup on his gums. I needed some sleep, the world was looking pretty foggy after three nights with nearly no sleep. I worried that Darlin’ would carry Puddin’ Head out of the room if I wasn’t there, so Nick got out one of the puppy pens and secured it around the box and a small area outside the box to put food and water, a blanket, and some puppy pads for Darlin’s use. He hung a curtain over the doorway so that the heater and humidifier would be more effective (Darlin’ was congested as she’s been recovering from Kennel Cough). There was nothing more I could do, so I went to sleep and prayed we’d eek out a miracle.

Now it’s Monday, and all four puppies are still with us. They are small and still look incredibly fragile, but Darlin’ has settled. The remaining pups have little bellies and mewl when they’re hungry. Most importantly they can latch on to their mother’s teat without my assistance. She is not picking anyone up. I’m not certain they are out of the woods, but I can see some light now.

Thanks for all the positive messages and suggestions. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to respond to all of them – but when I was trapped in that tiny room, waiting and hoping, it was great to see your support pop up on my phone. I’ll continue to post updates on the Another Good Dog facebook page throughout the week and please keep your prayers and positive thoughts coming.

If you know of anyone who has a pet that needs to be spayed or neutered and they are hesitating because of costs (or any other reason), please tell them that February 28th is World Spay Day, many clinics are offering free or discounted surgeries. And if they can’t find one, put them in touch with me and I’ll make sure they get the resources to have their dog spayed or neutered.

Thanks for reading. If you’d like to know more about me and my writing, I’d be honored if you stopped by website, CaraWrites.com.

Tragic turn to this birth story- spay & neuter your pets #fosterdog @rescueoph If it's painful, you become willing not just to endure it but also to let it awaken your heart and soften you.

[gatorjbone]

MIAMI HALF MARATHON - 01-29-2017

Wet…cold…windy…but always exciting. For some reason, this is the only race that comes with an internal countdown clock built into my brain.  Maybe it’s because it’s the biggest race I compete in.  Maybe it’s because I usually have friends who travel far and wide to stay with me.  Either way, the Miami Marathon and Half Marathon is a very high profile race.  This year, I was super excited for two reasons: First, my friend Elaine was coming down from North Carolina to run with me.  Second, this would be Lindsey’s first half marathon.  Most runners want their “first” to be something special, and Miami certainly qualifies.  I was actually thinking of “supersizing” to the full as a surprise to Elaine, but Lindsey entering the race changed those plans.  Part of me wants to get back into full marathons; part of me does not want to go through all of that training.  Miami was my first half marathon back in 2007, so I guess we were keeping it in the family.  As if that weren’t enough to make your toes tingle, Pam was coming down as well.  Pam had not run a half marathon in close to two years, but I knew it would be no problem for her. I picked Elaine up from the airport on Friday morning, and we went right over to Runner’s Depot.  In what can only be considered a strategically great decision, they set up their own “South Florida Running Show” at the Davie store instead of purchasing a booth at the expo.  All the reps from the major shoe manufacturers were there, and everything in the store was 20% off.  I purchased three pairs of running shorts, since Glenda said all of mine were too baggy.  In a very ingenious move, Reneé arranged for round-trip bus service to the expo at a cost of only $10 per person.  What a deal, and what better way to get folks to come to her expo?  Pam had to work that day, and arrived at our house around 11pm. We woke up early on Saturday and made our way to Runner’s Deport.  I had scheduled the four of us to take the 10am bus to the expo, which would put us back at the store around 1pm.  My only concern was there would not be enough time to totally peruse all of the merchandise, but past experience told me it should be fine.  Boy…was I wrong.  In previous years, the expo had been held at the Miami Beach Convention Center.  It was a fine venue, with a good amount of parking.  Last year, the Convention Center underwent renovation, and the expo was moved to Mana Wynwood.  Apparently, this was not received well at all, and the expo was moved this year to Marlins Park.  What a disaster!  We waited on line at least 15 minutes just to get in.  The packet pickup was on a different floor than the race shirts.  We were shuffled along like the lines in Disney.  All the vendors were on the concourse area, and not of the field.  This made for very tight quarters.  Once we picked up our stuff, there was only 45 minutes left to get back on the bus.  I scored a really nice jacket, and Lindsey purchased a shirt.  We did not have time for much else, and hit the road after that.  A delicious lunch at Bento, an early dinner, and I was in bed at 8pm.

As I have mentioned in many previous blog posts, I like to get to this race super early.  This way, I avoid all of the traffic, and get a primetime parking space inside the American Airlines Arena.  I woke up at 2am, and we were out the door by 3am.  The forecast called for rain all day, and the hour-by-hour projection did not look favorable.  On the good side, the temperatures would be in the fifties, with no mention of cancelling the race.  We arrived in Miami around 4am, and the parking garage was empty.  We sat in the car for about an hour before we made our way to the corral.  Since this was Lindsey’s first half marathon, they put her in the last corral (K).  Pam and I moved back to her corral, but we told Elaine to move ahead, since she was running the full marathon.  We stayed in a strategic corner in the American Airlines Arena to avoid the cold draft that was coming off the water.  Since it was chilly, I knew I would have to pee more than usual, so I tried to “empty out” as much as I could before the start of the race.  Once we positioned ourselves inside the corral, it started to rain.  Lucky for us, Pam had brought us all ponchos, but we were now shivering.  It didn’t rain hard, and it only lasted ten minutes, but the damage had been done.  17,093 runners participated in the race (14,136 did the half; 2,957 did the full).  Since 24,000 people registered for the event, I’m guessing around 6,900 runners decided to stay home and keep dry.  We did not get to the starting line until 7am, which was one full hour after the official race start.  It was windy, overcast, 54°, but the rain had totally stopped.  We decided to do 3 x 1 intervals, in an effort to protect Lindsey’s LCL as much as possible.  The intervals also allowed me to take strategic pee breaks during the walk times.

            Everything was going smoothly.  Lindsey felt good, and was really enjoying the sightseeing during the race.  It’s a totally different perspective when you are running the streets, as opposed to being in the car.  We stopped a few times to take photos, and really appreciated the cooler weather.  Glenda sent her a few motivational texts along the way, and Elaine kept us updated on her progress.

  We ditched the ponchos with about two miles to go, but of course that would come back and bite us in the ass.  Lindsey had a finishing goal in mind, and it was going to be close either way.  We decided to sprint the last mile, and forgo the walk break.  Of course it started to rain, but we would have not taken the time to put the ponchos on even if we still had them.  I was running so strong, I definitely felt as if I could have completed the full marathon.  In the end, Lindsey missed her goal by about 22 seconds, but you could see the tears of joy rolling down her cheeks as she crossed the finish line.  It was quite an accomplishment, and I was proud and happy that I had a part in making it come true.  Especially since she suffered her injury early in her training.

        We went back to the car to change into dry clothes, and told Elaine to meet us there when she finished.  Originally, we had planned to watch her cross the finish line, but the rain and the cold made us rethink that idea.  Since she had started in a few corrals ahead of us, the wait was not that long.  Her finishing time was excellent, but she missed her goal by about three minutes.  Pam drove back to Ocala once we got to my house, and I took Elaine to the airport on Monday morning.

The race was very nostalgic for the three of us, with an injection of new blood.  Elaine wants to do the race again next year, and I hope that Pam and Lindsey will follow suit.

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